


Pleading with your eyes, gonna get you some peace someday

by Queenie_Beanie



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Based more off Book Characterizations, Crowley sucks at being a mob grunt, Ex-mafia Au, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mysterious Aziraphale, based off 10yrs Art, kinda Idk if I am the best at that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 03:07:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21206390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenie_Beanie/pseuds/Queenie_Beanie
Summary: Crowley was never great at being a grunt in the mafia.But he was able to keep his hands clean for twenty years until he could Quit.In that time he met a Bookshop owner





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For a [funky space artist](https://10yrsyart.tumblr.com/) and [their wonderful art ](https://10yrsyart.tumblr.com/post/188617409437/can-we-see-your-interpretation-of-a-human-au-of)

  
Crowley knew he would never fit in a mob. It wasn’t exactly his choice to be thrown into a mob of terrorists hellbent on making themselves the scariest thing in London. 

But he was and he made the best of it. He was good at talking people into things that ended up more crime related. Not like he ever forced them or held them at gunpoint. Guns made him squeamish and really it never settled right in his gut to point a gun at someone and scare them into things.

But he was quite good at smiling and convincing. 

Mostly though he was put on larger things. Messing with Phone lines and traffic lights. Kept away from the action unless it was to convince people. 

‘Convince’ as Hastur and Ligur thought was discreetly pressing guns into people or just shooting them. 

For Crowley it was actually convincing. Tempting people to sell their shops for a nice new home in the country or a different shop in a different part of town. Most of the time it worked. Some of the times it didn’t. Few times he could convince his people to just leave them be. 

He was charming enough people in higher places listened. He was unnaturally lucky in that point. His method was usually mess free and a hundred percent legal. The people he tempted never went to the police about him and usually his people could occupy their spaces and the police couldn’t touch them. So yes higher ups loved him and his methods. 

This bookshop was not one of those times. He had found it by chance. It was an old place A.Z Fells plastered in that old Victorian style that sat out of place with the rest of Soho. He sighed and walked in. Why? He didn’t know he didn’t even like books.

Yet he walked into a book shop with more books then actual shop.

Crowley stopped at one of the books laid out on the table. It looked old. Old. Like proper old as dirt old. He picked it up and didn’t know enough about old books to gauge how old it was. For how old it was the condition of the book was pristine and looking almost like new. 

A hand took the book from his. 

“It is a first edition and I would appreciate if you didn’t handle it carelessly.” Crowley blinked behind his sunglasses and looked up to the bookshop owner. 

Now what his co-workers from hell- literally ha- failed to mention was the book shop owner not only was taller than him but was a hell of a lot bigger than him. 

He kept in shape mind you. You kind of had to mostly to get out of scrapes- but Crowley was never a fighter. Quite the opposite really he liked to hide and.... something his way out of fighting. There was an animal used for that idiom. Snake his way out of situations? No that wasn’t it...

He was getting off track. 

Reality showed he was just a coward. The Bookshop owner was in bloody pink but he was able to glare down at him sternly with steel blue eyes. But it wasn’t just the glare. It was how his shoulders squared and the air felt like fire and still cold somehow.

“I- um- ngk- right Sorry-.” He said and the glare lessened lightly. The man hummed and turned walking the book to his counter. 

“What can I help you with?” The man said unfriendly and cold. Which- Crowley had never met this man before and it felt off. He had laugh lines for one. The soft kind that came with years of gentle smiles and laughter. On top of that the man over all looked like he should be soft. The kind of grandad soft.... 

Crowley realized he was still intimidated by a soft grandad... he coughed and tried to regain himself. What didn’t help was the man seemed to be patiently waiting for him to. He snapped and clapped his hands looking around the bookshop.He was good at this. Finding things to talk about and charm with.

  
  
  
  
  


He snapped and clapped again. 

He knew jack shit about books.

“If you aren’t going to buy anything then you can just leave.” The man said after a moment and the bastard actually sounded pleased about it. Crowley raised an eyebrow. 

“I am though. What do you got on Architecture?” 

“Not sure.” The man said simply he was smiling but it was cold and unhelpful. Crowley shrugged and wandered around the bookshop. He would turn back to see the man following him and ducking away. A part of him found it a little insulting, he remembered being a kid and people believe if he was going to steal everything his grimy little hands could touch... they weren’t wrong but there was a principle. 

Another part of him found it funny. The man wasn’t even trying to hide it. He smiled his customer service smile and loomed all the same. He wasn’t trying to hide the menace or how much he didn’t want Crowley there. But he wasn’t going to attack Crowley... at least maybe not in the books shop. So Crowley kept himself busy and mindlessly browsed the books.

Eventually Crowley found an actually interesting book. Some old folklore about a trickster and an angel. He got a few pages in and looked to the shop keep. 

“How much?” 

“£1100 pounds.” The man said barely batting an eye. Crowley gawked. 

“What?” The man shrugged. 

“It is a first edition.” Crowley gapped and he was interested but not that interested. He glanced around and saw a reading corner by the window and hummed before definitely walking over and sat in the reading nook. 

“Fine. I will just read it here then.” He said smiling triumphantly. Blue eyes followed him to his new spot and raised an eyebrow. Then a new smile fitted on the blonde’s face that was a lot softer and Crowley felt his stomach flip messily. 

“Well treat it nicely then.” He said simply and walked off. 

Crowley found himself reading the book. It was an interesting story. A battle of wits with a trickster trying to bring down a king only to learn the King's advisor was an angel and twarting each prank the trickster set up for the king at night. 

He actually liked it but it was getting a little late. So he put the book back where he found it. Passing by the book keep who was enraptured in his own book. He got to the door to leave and a kindly voice followed. 

“Have a nice night dear.” Crowley felt his face warm again and he waved his hand. 

“Urm- you too.” He said awkwardly and shuffled out. 

Now Crowley was a smart man. He hasn’t always been a smart man but when the world gets tough and you don’t get tough with it you got smart. Smart enough to know people and smart enough to read situations. You also got smart about yourself. 

You never survived a tough world of you didn’t know yourself enough to know when things were too much for you. Or if you didn’t know exactly how you would react in certain situations. If you know you would lash out at someone grabbing your glasses you avoided people that got close to your personal space. If you knew you would definitely kick someone in the head for getting the seats of your car dirty you didn’t let anyone near your car. 

If you knew you had an insatiable curiosity and a need to complete things you don’t go near mysteries and you don’t start something you can’t finish in one sitting.... 

Crowley met a man in pink. That was scarier then Hastur and Ligur, but was significantly leaning more on the pretty then they were on the ugly. He knew nothing about this man other then he sold books at ridiculous prices but let him sit in a corner and read a thousand pound book. A book that Crowley liked and didn’t finish. 

Luckily, Crowley thought to himself. I am the kind of guy that can let things go.

“I think the angel is being a bastard at this point.” He said from his corner leaning enough into the wall to see the shop keep at the counter. The owner barely turned head and stared at Crowley out of the corner of his eye. 

Don’t judge him. Just. Don’t. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean the King is a tyrant. The angel knows it too but he is still stopping the trickster.” He said tapping the page lightly. The book keep smiled softly and leaned on his hand.

“The angel was tasked with a duty, he intends to see it through. Even if it means protecting a tyrannical king from a wily trickster.” Crowley hummed and shook his head. 

“I think he is just enjoying pissing the trickster off at this point.” The bookshop owner actually laughed. He covered his mouth and giggled behind it. 

Crowley beamed proudly, he had been coming to the shop sporadically now determined to learn more about the shopkeeper and finish this damn book so he could be over it. Put the mystery and the book behind him. 

But every time he walked into the book shop he would strut past the owner pick up the book and pointedly find a nice spot to sit and read. He always expected the owner to frown and follow him around or menace him again. But after that first time the man only would glance up, smile and return to his book. 

When Crowley did talk to him they usually ended up turning into Moral debates or complaining about one historical figure or another. 

Once they both had a very heated row about Zeus that had both of them very loud and laughing. 

The shop keep had a nice laugh....

Crowley was nowhere near finishing the book and no where near knowing more about the shopkeep. 

“So you read this book yeah?” He asked holding up the book. 

“Oh I have almost finished reading all the books in the shop.” He said simply before getting up and leaving Crowley’s line of sight. Leaving the Mob grunt to just gape. He scrambled up to follow the taser man unable to leave it at that. He stopped at the counter and leaned over. 

“You are lying you have not read every book.” In the back room he heard clinking of glass and the man returned with two cups of tea. 

Book-man set on down in from of him and supper his own tea. 

“I said almost every book. So no I did not lie because I didn’t say ‘I have read every book’ my dear boy.” There was a twinkle in his eye as he sipped his tea. Crowley flushed and took the offered cup. 

“I was already making it sorry I didn’t-.” 

“No no this is um.... it is fine.” 

It was... that is what kind of threw him off.

He wasn’t use to people being nice to him. He looked up and the shop keeper smiled kindly and Crowley felt his face grow hot again. He turned and pushed himself up on the counter to cover how flustered he felt. He leaned back to catch the disapproval on the shoo keeper’s face.   
  


“What? Not like you have any customers.” He smirked. The shop keeper chuckled and hummed.   
  


“Now who is the bastard?” He asked stone teasing and friendly. 

Crowley wasn’t use to this but he could be...


	2. Mud on your face, you big disgrace

  
Now Crowley never liked his job. His job came with asking too many questions and poking his nose where it didn’t belong. He was a pest as a kid. One his mother wasn't too keen on keeping around the house. It was his teen years that earned him his spot in the Mob. Poking his nose around and being a bit too charming. He had run in with the boss- fittingly names Lucifer Morningstar. He was a handsome man and laughed when Crowley told an awkward joke. 

The mafia man had said he liked Crowley and shoved him towards a twenty something Hastur and said give him a job and left it at that. Any interactions after that seemed to be through reports or the occasional glance and amusement Crowley guessed was the fact that he was still in the mob and Alive.... 

Then the old man died. Made sense. Sixty something in the mafia and someone shot him in the head. 

It was bound to happen. It didn’t even matter who did it. More people wanted Beelzebub to lead the ‘family’ then old Lucifer Morningstar. 

Crowley was not one of those people but he didn’t exactly have a voice in the matter. Though he supposed Luckily with Beelzebub and the fact that his hands were clean and he purposefully kept himself out of heists and secrets he was in the best position to basically quit. 

Something he toyed with Beelzebub back in the earlier years. Asking what could a guy do to not get shot leaving the mafia. Beelzebub was no Lucifer. Lucifer would have smiled a nasty smile and say your get stabbed instead’ and laugh finding the whole thing hilarious. His eldest child looked at Crowley. Twenty and miserable. 

“Don’t make enemies. Don’t commit a crime. Do what you are told and do a good enough job. As soon as Lucifer kicks the bucket and you some how did all of that I won’t hold you here.” Crowley knew a fools game when he heard one. All those things were impossible to do while in a crime family..... but he took it as a challenge. He did what he was told. He went to places, gathered intel, charmed people to giving him things freely. He disguised himself and got very good at not getting caught for crimes. He kept his head out of secrets and businesses only doing the things he was given. He kept the blood off his hands. 

It wasn’t until Hastur, now appointed his boss, shoved a gun in his hand as he was trying to get to Beelzebub to say ‘ciao’ did he get nervous. 

It wasn’t until they dragged him to a room with a young woman tied to a chair did he feel sick. 

It wasn’t until they told him to get information out of her and shoot her did he do something Stupid. 

“Crawly you are one thing and one thing only a slimy worm. But you are a slimy worm that gets people talking.”

“I don’t interrogate and I never needed a gun. This is your field Hastur.” He honestly use to be close to Hastur. Both him and Ligur were fine enough to follow around but enjoyed their jobs where he didn’t and he still was praised.... 

It wasn’t a health work environment. 

“New management. Time to start pulling your weight.” 

“Yeah about that I actually quit! You know not quite working out. So I was just going to inform the boss grab my things and skedaddle.” He was stopped by a fist to the stomach. 

“Oh you don’t get off that easily Crawly.” Crowley dropped to the floor and tried to shuffle back. 

“You are leaving? I guess that means you aren’t going to be protected.” He growled. 

Crowley tensed. Well this couldn’t end well

—

  


Crowley was able to get out of their fast but Hastur was right. He will always be a part of Beelzebub’s he was known... he had enemies and people who knew where he lived. 

Still he pounded on the door. 

“Fuck.” He looked around. Hastur or the others couldn’t be too far and he was pounding on a bookshop door-.

It opened with the owner’s sharp glare. 

“Honestly at this- oh dear lord!” Crowley looked up and his face hurt. Everything hurt and he had a stead pain. 

“....do you ever leave?” He blurted. The owner blinked and before Crowley could apologize and start over he was being pulled into the shop. 

“What on God’s green earth happened to you?!” 

“I um.... tried to quit my job.” He grunted. The shop keep didn’t respond just walked him to the back shop. There was an unsettling lack of response to the fact that Crowley was bloody in his shop after saying he quit. 

“Oh dear- where are you hurt?” The owner said lifting his hand. Sharp pains filled up and he felt sick to his stomach seeing the red coving his hand. Breathing was painful and he was taking a lot of breath’s fast. His other hand grabbed the owners pink clad arm.

“Bloody hell.... dear breathe for me.” The shop keep said walking him backwards. 

“Dear I cant help you if you pass out-.” There was knocking on the door and Crowley’s vision swam. He was going to die. He was going to get the shop owner killed- he was going to die and get someone killed. 

“We are close!” The shopkeep snapped back not turning from Crowley. 

“Dear please do be quiet.” He hissed to Crowley. Oh... he was apologizing out loud. Crowley’s jaw snapped shut as the pounding got louder. There was shouting. 

“Sorry.... I don’t even know your name.” He whispered. He was accepting death now. He felt a little faint. The shop keep stared at him and then walked him back. He opened the door.

“It is Azira Fell. Most call me Mr. Fell.” The man said simply. Crowley’s vision blurred a the lights of the back room gave Mr. Fell a halo look. 

“H-heh even your family?” 

“They called me Az.” Fell said smiled and sat him down on the couch. 

“I am going to get blood on the couch...” Crowley muttered. 

“Don’t die and you can help me clean it up.” 

“They’ll kill me.” Crowley said softer. Fell hummed and stood up grabbing something Crowley’s vision and lack of blood didn’t give his brain enough information to tell him what it was. 

“They won’t.” Crowley watching him go to the door of the back room. 

“M Crowley.... Anthony...” he told Mr. Fell who looked behind him to Crowley and Crowley was able to recognize the owner was smiling and the lowlights around him... 

He looked like an angel. 

“Nice to meet you Crowley.” He chuckled and closed the door behind him. If he passed out Crowley couldn’t tell. No one there to respond to reality and the dark void of unconsciousness swam with an undetermined blur. No windows and steady lights. The ringing in his ears and the way his eyes blurred he didn’t know how long he waited for people to kick open the door. For gun shots to ring. For the pain to finally get to him. For the blood to finally stop. 

Eventually someone came in. He closed his eyes and waited. Soft Hands and a soft voice reached him. 

“Still with me?” An angel spoke softly. Crowley’s eye peeled open to pink and light. 

“Mm.” 

“Lovely I am going to clean you up now you don’t have to worry.” 

With that his conscious failed and abandoned him. 

Crowley surrendered to the Angel. 

—

Azira Fell lived a long life. He traveled the world. He felt love. Seen hatred. He met people. Lived all kinds of lives. 

The world was large and beautiful. He learned so much in his life and when his Uncle Terry passed he returned home to London. 

His uncle who taught him to love books with adventures and the world. With history and life. Together they explored the world in his bookshop. Azira felt together when he returned. All around the world and this is where he was meant to be. 

So he hung up his travel gear. Settled with a cup of cocoa and started reading again. It was how he mourned and honored his uncle. All the world never compared to a book for Azira. 

Then he met the stranger. He was use to strangers. The world was filled with them. He was in a dark suit and sported glasses. 

Flashy was the word Azira used for him and Flashy was the name he adopted for the strange man that stumbled into his book shop. Around the world Azira met all types. He knew stories of the man in sunglasses that talked shop owners out of their shops. They described him and this man fit the bill. Except he didn’t. 

He wandered around the shop and found a book. It was Azira’s favorite as a child. He could of sworn he stored that book away. He tried to scare the man off and what that got him was a man defiantly strolling to a window seat sprawling out like he owned the area and started reading. 

Azira had seen all types.... and this man was still a strange one. He felt new. He was kind for one. For a criminal he treated Azira’s books gently and happily started conversation. If it was to learn anything about Azira he derailed quickly to start debates on one Philosophical matter or another. The more the man came into his shop and the more Azira relaxed around him, how he defended the trickster, how he mused the Angel was more then the absolute good he represented. It was an interesting take his Uncle had loved when Azira was young telling his Uncle the angel was doing his job! He was protecting. 

But like Flashy, he felt the Angel was so much more then the definition of Angel. 

Flashy was more then the initial definition of Criminal. He found himself enjoying the other man’s company. The wild views and opposing ideas. But it was fun to debate and talk views with the man. 

It was fun to have company like Flashy. 

“There is toast and eggs in the kitchen.” Azira said when he heard creaks down the stairs of the shop. 

“Ngk.” He looked back to the man who did not fit the over sized Tartan Pajama set Azira forced on him after cleaning him up and before Crowley had passed out. 

“You though shouldnt be out of bed.” 

“I- what- what happened?” Oh dear.

“You came into my shop beaten and bloodied. You were stabbed my dear.” 

“I- fuck Angel I remember that.” Came the snarky reply as Crowley pinched his nose. Angel? Where the bloody hell did Angel come from?

“I mean- after I was chased.” 

“Oh! Them. I asked them to leave.” Azira said flippantly.

“You.... you asked them to leave.” 

“Yes.” 

“And they did?” The dry sarcasm had Azira hoping his somewhat friend was doing better. He looked so but was resting heavily on the railings and was slowly sinking down to sit. 

Azira got up and made his way over to Crowley helping him back up to his feet and supporting him as they walked back up the stairs. 

“Well there were some events happening before and after but you don’t need to worry about that. Rest I doubt you can go home just get with those unsavories lurking.” 

“I-I suppose not.... you aren’t surprised... about me..” 

“I was warned about you when I first took over the shop.” Azira hummed. 

“Oh... I see.. then.... why are you helping me?” Crowley asked and Azira could see the weary nerves. Like he was expecting their to be a catch. Azira though wasn’t one for conditions. Frankly he doubted he would of had any if he never knew Crowley before the situation. 

“You have yet to finish the book. I really would like to hear your input about the end and I even have a recommendation for the next book you should read.” He said cheekily setting the dumbfounded man on the bed. 

“I-nnng- what?” 

“How does breakfast and tea sound?”

“Uh.... good?” Azira smiled and walked out the door. He heard Crowley softly mutter the word ‘weasels’ and frankly Azira didn’t want to know. 

He wondered if his adventures weren’t quite over yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write a two shot to feel I could and yet,,, I feel there needs to be more chapters
> 
> Also realizing after I wrote this Az relationship with his uncle is a lot like another one of 10yrs comics,,,
> 
> [oops](https://www.deviantart.com/10yrsy/art/WIWY-pg1-656054243)??


End file.
